Queer Camp and Classical Antiquity: The Case of Catullus 16

This essay appeared, in an edited form, in the September–October 2011 issue of The Gay & Lesbian Review

One of the things I want to do with this Substack is to share different parts of my writing self, and consequently of my self-self. What follows is an essay I wrote for The Gay & Lesbian Review in 2011, a year after I defended the doctoral dissertation in which I first developed some of these critical ideas. I post here my original, unedited version, with gratitude to GLR editor Richard Schneider.

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Could the throwing of camp shade turn out to be, like aqueducts and concrete, an invention of the ancient Romans? Roman poets such as Catullus, Martial, and Juvenal are notorious for their ridicule of freeborn Roman males who submit to sexual penetration. These poets regularly label their male peers with Latin terms such as cinaedus, pathicus, impudicus, and mollis, none of which has a precise English equivalent, but all of which are pejorative words that mark men as effeminate and sexually submissive; that is, as unmanly men who like to get fucked. The technical term for vehement ridicule, whether of behavior, character, appearance, or any other personal trait, is invective (nice for cocktail parties and crossword puzzles, along with the corresponding verb, inveigh). In the following essay, I ask you to consider the possibility that some Roman poems that use this kind of language are not earnest homophobic ridicule at all, but a very early instance of what we in the twentieth century came to call camp. This is a controversial claim for at least two reasons. For one thing, many experts will question whether we can apply a twentieth-century cultural category like “camp” to ancient Roman poetry. Others will chafe at the idea that there might be something subversively homophilic going on in what we generally consider some of the most rabidly homophobic poetry in the Western literary tradition. So, to quote one of the greatest camp icons of the American cinema, “Fasten your seatbelts, it’s going to be a bumpy night!”

Camp has been defined in many ways, but the best working definition is that suggested by sociologist Esther Newton in her 1972 book Mother Camp, a study of female impersonators in America, including camp drag queens. Newton says that camp is a kind of performance (either on stage or in daily life) that embraces the stigma of homosexual identity by calling attention to incongruous juxtapositions in a manner that is both theatrical and humorous. By incongruous juxtapositions, Newton means any pairing of things that do not seem like they belong together: a beauty in love with a beast, an old woman living in a shoe, or—the most characteristic camp incongruity of all—a man wearing a dress. Newton argues that by fully embracing the stigmatized identity, camp can “neutralize the sting and make it laughable.” Newton continues: “Not all references to the stigma are campy, however. Only if it is pointed out as a joke is it camp, although there is no requirement that the jokes be gentle or friendly. A lot of camping is extremely hostile; it is almost always sarcastic. But its intent is humorous as well.”

Hostile, sarcastic humor about men acting like women is precisely what the homophobic invective of Catullus, Martial, and Juvenal is all about. Let us consider one of the most famous examples, Catullus’s Poem 16. This poem is addressed to two fellow Romans, Aurelius and Furius, who figure prominently in a number of other poems having to do with Catullus’s love affairs, both heterosexual and homosexual. In Poem 11, Catullus calls Aurelius and Furius his “friends,” and asks them to deliver a bitter reproach on his behalf to his faithless girlfriend, Lesbia. In Poems 15 and 21, Catullus warns Aurelius to keep his hands off Catullus’s boyfriend, Juventius. In Poem 24, Catullus begs Juventius to steer clear of Furius, who has designs on the boy.

Keep the complex and shifting relationships among Catullus, Aurelius, and Furius in mind as you read the opening lines of Poem 16 (the speaker is Catullus):

I shall butt-fuck you and skull-fuck you,
Aurelius you pussy-boy and Furius you cocksucker,
both of whom think that I am unmanly,
because my little verses are a little soft.

When Aurelius and Furius call Catullus’s verses “soft,” they are using the Latin word mollis, one of the terms I listed at the outset as ways to call Roman men out as effeminate and sexually submissive. Catullus is claiming, in effect, that Aurelius and Furius accuse him of being unmanly because he writes unmanly verse. By “unmanly verse,” Catullus means poetry in which the poet paints a verbal picture of unmanly behavior. For the Romans, manly behavior equaled sexually dominant behavior, and unmanly behavior equaled sexually submissive behavior. Catullus will enlighten us about this sexually submissive behavior later in the poem. First, however, he defends himself against this charge by arguing that (male) poets may write unmanly poetry without compromising their own masculinity:

For while it is fitting for a morally upright poet to be manly
himself, his little verses need not be so at all.
In fact, verses have wit and charm
if they are a little soft and somewhat unmanly,
and can get a rise,
not out of boys perhaps, but these hairy men
who can barely get it up.

Not only can a manly man write unmanly poetry, but it also turns out that unmanly poetry—poetry about men behaving in a sexually submissive manner—is witty, charming, and sexually stimulating for men who need a little boost in the bedroom.

In the penultimate two lines of the poem, Catullus sheds more light on the accusation:

Just because you have read of my many thousands of kisses,
you think that I am not quite a man?

The unmanly verse, Catullus reveals, consists of passages in his poems where he begs a lover for “many thousands of kisses.” Catullus does not mention a specific lover here, but readers familiar with his poems will be aware that he pleads for such kisses from both his girlfriend Lesbia (in Poems 5 and 7) and his boyfriend Juventius (in Poem 48). Moreover, in Poem 99, Catullus “steals” a single kiss from Juventius, who proceeds to wash his lips clean, a gesture that Catullus interprets as a devastating rejection. You may wonder what is so “unmanly” about asking your girlfriend or boyfriend for kisses, even for thousands of kisses. Remember, however, that manliness for the Romans meant dominance. A manly Catullus would not beg Lesbia or Juventius for kisses, nor would he feel the need to surreptitiously steal a kiss from Juventius, or sulk when his sexual overture was rejected. On the contrary, he would throw Lesbia down on the bed, or perhaps slam Juventius up against the wall, and take what he wanted. At least, that is the caricature of Roman masculinity that lies behind the charge of unmanly “softness” that Aurelius and Furius have lodged against Catullus in the scenario imagined by Poem 16.

Finally, in the last line of the poem, Catullus reiterates his initial threat against Aurelius and Furius:

I shall butt-fuck you and skull-fuck you.

I warned you it would be a bumpy night!

Traditionally, Catullus’s Poem 16 has been cited as an example of homophobic invective that provides evidence of the rigid sex and gender morality of the ancient Romans. From this poem, the usual argument goes, we learn that it was okay for Roman men to fuck other men, but not okay for Roman men to get fucked: in other words, being a top was honorable and manly, but being a bottom was womanly and therefore shameful for a man. But while that description of Roman sex and gender norms may be true enough as far as it goes, does it account adequately for everything going on in this remarkable little poem? I certainly don’t think so; and what it does not account for, I would argue, is camp: a use of hostile, sarcastic humor that deliberately showcases the stigmatization of sex and gender deviance and embraces the stigma so as to neutralize its sting. Make sure those seatbelts are fastened and I’ll explain further.

According to the way the Romans viewed sex and gender roles, there was little difference between submitting to a man and submitting to a woman: sexual dominance was manly and sexual submissiveness was womanly, regardless of the anatomical sex of the partners. Aurelius and Furius have accused Catullus of effeminacy because he writes poems in which he submits to both a woman (Lesbia) and a young man (Juventius). Catullus responds by saying, in effect, I’ll show you who’s manly and who’s womanly—by forcing you both to submit to me sexually. Yes, Catullus’s threat to butt-fuck and skull-fuck Aurelius and Furius is in effect a joke about rape; and yes, it is a joke that equates dominance with masculinity and submission with femininity; and so yes, if we insist on keeping our blinders on, we can understand this joke as both misogynistic and homophobic.

On the other hand, Catullus is insisting that, despite his erotic submission to Lesbia and Juventius, he is man enough to sexually dominate Aurelius and Furius. That is, Catullus is challenging the traditional Roman assumption that submission is unmanly: he can assume a submissive role or a dominant role as he pleases—his manliness is independent of the rigid sex and gender roles that traditionally define Roman masculinity. Catullus is, in effect, putting on a dress and daring all comers to call him a faggot. This is some pretty queer stuff, as pioneering feminist classicist Judith Hallett pointed out in a 1973 essay called “The Role of Women in Roman Elegy: Counter-Cultural Feminism.” In that essay, Hallett argued that Roman love poets like Catullus, Ovid, Propertius, and Tibullus, by eagerly confessing their erotic submission to their mistresses, were defining an egalitarian subjectivity that was both counter-normative and proto-feminist. Unfortunately, Hallett’s perspective was pushed aside in the 1990s by scholars who resisted the queer gender-bending on display in poems like Catullus 16 and insisted on reading these poems as evidence only for a sex/gender system based on masculine dominance and feminine submission. In effect, they underscored the fact that Catullus uses pejorative, stigmatizing language to mock his enemies as effeminate and sexually submissive, and they virtually ignored the fact that Catullus himself embraced his own stigmatized effeminate gender identity.

Perhaps I have convinced you that Catullus, in Poem 16, embraces his own effeminacy in a manner that we can recognize as counter-normative and perhaps even proto-feminist. But is it really camp? For one thing, Esther Newton and other camp theorists talk about camp in terms of resisting homophobia and embracing the stigma of homosexuality; here, however, we have seen Catullus using his hostile and witty sarcasm to resist charges of effeminacy based on his relationships with women as well as men. Moreover, can we really see Catullus’s Poem 16 as part of a tradition that ultimately gave us Oscar Wilde, Bette Davis, and Justin Vivian Bond? Of course, I think the answer is a resounding “Yes” on both counts. First, let’s take a closer look at the issue of homosexuality, then at the issue of camp.

As I mentioned above, the Romans viewed sexual dominance as manly and sexual submissiveness as womanly, regardless of the anatomical sex of the partners. A logical consequence of this dynamic, also noted above, is that it was honorable for a Roman man to sexually penetrate other men, but shameful for a Roman man to be sexually penetrated (topping good, bottoming bad). The Romans did not have a word for “homosexual,” because they did not recognize the existence of homosexuality as the modern West came to recognize it in later centuries. Instead, a man who sexually penetrated women or other men was simply called a “man” (vir, the source of the English word virile). A man who was sexually penetrated, whether by other men or perhaps even by a dildo-wielding woman, was called one or more of those pejorative terms for effeminate, sexually submissive men that I listed at the outset: cinaedus, pathicus, impudicus, or mollis.

In Catullus’s Poem 16, the poet claims that his associates, Aurelius and Furius, think that he is parum pudicum, literally, “not sexually impenetrable enough.” This is another way of saying impudicum, one of our words for effeminate, sexually submissive men. In the eyes of Aurelius and Furius (who stand in for all of Catullus’s adult male Roman peers), Catullus has abdicated his claim to manliness, not because he has fucked another man, but because he assumed the submissive position of an abject lover to both Lesbia and Juventius. For the Romans, as we saw above, gender and sexuality are not a matter of homos and heteros; they are a matter of dominants and submissives, and Catullus in his erotic poetry has provided evidence of his sexual submissiveness to both a girlfriend and a boyfriend.

In modern terms, Aurelius and Furius are calling Catullus a sissy, a faggot, a queer. Catullus’s peers do not accuse him of being a homosexual, because, as we have seen, homosexuality was not a concept the Romans understood. But we can easily see the connection between the modern stigma of homosexuality and the ancient stigma of effeminacy and sexual submissiveness. Catullus’s Poem 16, then, qualifies as camp because the poet uses witty and sarcastic sexual humor to embrace an ancient Roman stigma of sexual submissiveness and gender deviance that is analogous to the stigma associated with modern homosexuality.

What remains to discuss is the central part of the poem, where Catullus defends himself against the charge of effeminacy by arguing that a manly poet can write unmanly verse. This section of the poem is camp through and through. It abounds in incongruous juxtapositions, all of which are associated with sex and gender deviance. Catullus argues that a respectable poet should be manly, but his verse may be unmanly. In fact, verses that are “a little soft” (molliculi, a diminutive form of mollis) and “somewhat unmanly” (parum pudicum, the synonym for impudicus that we saw earlier in the poem) are witty and charming. So expectation clashes with reality not only when it comes to the gender identity of men, but also when it comes to the aesthetic qualities of verse. Moreover, naughty verse has no effect on “boys” (pueri), but it sexually arouses adult men. For the Romans, this amounts to another form of the manly/unmanly opposition, because young boys are smooth, soft, feminine creatures who have not yet attained manhood or manliness.

There is one last way in which Catullus’s Poem 16 exemplifies camp, and that is in its pretended adherence to moral standards that it in fact rejects. Catullus does not say, like some 1990s Queer Nationalist, “I am effeminate and sexually submissive and I have every right to be so.” Instead, he says, “A poet can be manly even though his verse his unmanly.” This would appear to suggest that Catullus accepts traditional Roman standards of masculine comportment, and that his poetic persona as an abject lover is merely a fictive pose. But why should we believe this, and why should we not believe that it is precisely the other way around? That is, how do we know that Catullus does not in fact reject traditional Roman standards of masculinity, and that his abject, effeminate persona is not the “real” Catullus? The fact is, we don’t know for sure which is real and which is pretend, and that is precisely how camp works, at least in the classic post-war, pre-Stonewall form that Esther Newton described in Mother Camp. The “straight” men and women attending the drag show can believe that the man onstage in a dress is merely a “female impersonator” who, in his offstage life, shares their own heteronormative value system; the “camp” audience members, by contrast, share the inside knowledge that the female impersonator is in fact a drag queen who rejects rigid gender roles and has sex with other men—perhaps even gets fucked by them. Similarly, Catullus’s “outside” readers can believe that Catullus himself is a manly man who writes unmanly verse to be witty, charming, and titillating, while his “inside” readers understand that Catullus rejects rigid sex and gender roles and embraces his unmanly submission to male and female lovers alike.

It has indeed been a bumpy night, and soon you will be able to loosen your seatbelts and have a nice cocktail with breakfast. First however, let me make a concluding point or two about why I like doing camp readings of Roman invective poetry. For years, queer readers have been told that we should despise this kind of poetry because it devalues us and has historically contributed to our stigmatization and marginalization. And yet, much of this poetry—most of it, in fact—can be great fun if we approach it as camp frivolity rather than morally earnest homophobic ridicule. What’s more, as I hope I have shown, a camp reading these poems makes a lot of interpretive sense: how morally serious do we really think Catullus can be when he goes around threatening to sexually assault those who assail his manhood? The only other option is to assume that such Roman poets as Catullus, Martial, and Juvenal are complete monsters, and that would be a great pity, because they wrote some awesome poetry. Finally, if we as queer readers approach this poetry as camp, we are reclaiming it for ourselves, making it a part of our history, and reinscribing ourselves into a part of the Western literary tradition from which we have long been excluded. To paraphrase the mother of queer theory, Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, not only has there a been a camp Catullus, a camp Martial, and a camp Juvenal, but their names are Catullus, Martial, and Juvenal.

♨︎♨︎♨︎

A postscript

I wrote this essay in 2011, shortly after completing my doctoral dissertation in which I first elaborated these ideas about the applicability of camp as an interpretive lens through which to view at least some homophobic invective poetry by Roman poets including Catullus, Martial, and Juvenal. Believe me when I tell you it was not an easy sell. Suffice it to say that I was not awarded any of the numerous Mellon fellowships I applied for to develop essays applying these concepts to other Roman texts as well as to Ancient Greek texts. And yet things have a way of coming around: Younger scholars have been citing my dissertation and other academic work for over a decade now in their own investigations of sex and gender in classical antiquity.